Six Point Bombshell

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Dan Webb lay flat on his back with an armful of legs hugged to his helmet, a faceful of cleats grinding at his nose and mouth, half a ton of weight bouncing on his belly… and asked himself if the game was worth the candle.

The whistle peeled the pressure off his ribs. But there was no balm for bruised muscles in assistant line coach Yokum’s whip-lash words. Not that the coach was bawling him out. Yokum was merely ignoring him.

“Soletti!” The caustic tone was directed at the C team’s towering left tackle. “How many times I got to tell you! Check that guard before you pull out of the line on reverses!

“Check him!”

Soletti nodded grimly, stalked to his position, glowered at Dan.

The guard murmured sympathetically: “Don’t let it get you down, deep dish.

Anybody’d think he never heard of a check bouncing, before.”

Soletti grinned tautly. “Back in your bowl, wise cracker. You’re due to be crumbled.”

“Over,” Yokum barked irritably. “But good.”

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